


see you on the other side of the war

by fairkidforever



Series: a million things I haven't done [5]
Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: F/M, Family Dinners, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Melancholy, Parents, Post-War, Sad Jake, ex awkwardness, justice and reconciliation, they do nothing but eat dinner, war crimes tribunal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-05
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-06 15:31:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8758591
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairkidforever/pseuds/fairkidforever
Summary: Six months after the war ends, the legal proceedings against Visser One starts. Marco isn't sure which is worse: having to testify, not being sure where he stands with Ax, or seeing Jake's brittleness and depression up close and not knowing what to do about to help him. Eva tries to solve one problem with another by having Ax and Jake over the night before the first day of the hearing, with mixed results.
(takes place between 'we won the war (what was it all for?)' and 'raise a glass to freedom', but can be read alone.)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm accustomed to a smoother ride / Or maybe I'm a dog who's lost its bite / I don't expect to be treated like a fool no more / I don't expect to sleep the night" - written to the sounds of [The Obvious Child](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9HKNAhAxMAk) by Paul Simon.
> 
> Takes place after [we won the war (what was it all for?)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8335351) and [raise a glass to freedom](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8417599) but can be read alone.
> 
> A zillion zillion thanks to [Cavatica](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Cavatica/pseuds/Cavatica) for their boundless enthusiasm for this ship and for their delightful and insightful beta of this work. Big thanks for catching a bunch of typos, nerding out with me about early 2000's music, keeping these characters from time-traveling, and cheering me on with dozens and dozens of lovely comments. Thanks a million!

"Honey?" my mom said from the doorframe of the bedroom. "How many times are you gonna fumble tying that tie?"

"I've almost got it this time," I said. I could feel my hands sweating as I went for the full windsor. Over, under, back over, through the loop and... I fluffed it. "Maybe I'll just go for a casual look at the tribunal press conference." I took the tie off and threw it on my bed.

Mom's gaze skipped from the unmade bed to the clothes on the floor to the several cups of tea, coffee, and other discarded beverages. "We only got here three days ago, Marco," Mom said. "How'd you make such a mess already?"

"I've been hard at work," I said grimly.

Mom sat down in the chair next to the door that I had cleverly coated in suit jackets. "All right, kid. What's up?"

"What do you mean?" I asked, flopping down on my bed dramatically. "I'm going to go to Visser One's trial underdressed and unprepared."

Mom sighed. "Don't exaggerate, Marco," she said. "You've been prepping with the lawyers for two months now. The four of you are going to testify, along with me and a dozen other ex-hosts, Toby, and the governor. You can't possibly be afraid that he's going to walk. I haven't seen a trial this textbook since the genocide case in Guatemala. Open-and-shut."

"It's not Visser One I'm worried about," I said. I clamped a pillow around my head. I was being the teeniest bit overdramatic but I didn't really care that much. I figured my mom would tolerate my histrionics. She did owe me.

Mom adopted a wry tone. "Is this about your boyfriend?" she asked. "All worked up about seeing him, huh?"

This comment had the desired effect of getting me to resurface from under the pillow. "What?!" I exclaimed. "No. No way. Give me some credit. I'm not falling to pieces over-"

"Over Ax? All evidence to the contrary, mijo. I'm sure Ax would be interested to hear that you were more worried about hanging out with him than you were about testifying in court," my mom said, inspecting her nails casually. I shot bolt upright. "I wonder who I know who has his number. Cassie probably does, I'm sure she'd give it to me if I told her how concerned I was about my poor son, pining away over-"

"Mom, stop," I said. "Come on. I'm not losing my cool over some boy, not even Ax. Don't patronize me."

"So it's not about Ax?" she asked.

I flopped back down. "Well, maybe a little bit. But not primarily."

"Look, I'm not a mind reader, kid," Mom said. "And I also have a hell of a lot of eyewitness testimony to prepare for the preliminary hearing. So if you could cut me some slack on this whole 'emotional support' thing and tell me what's upsetting you instead of making me guess, that'd be just fabulous."

My mother's parenting style had changed a lot since we'd rescued her from the original Visser One. The mom that I remembered was kind and wise and didn't put up with anything, and that much hadn't changed, but post-infestation, my mom had gotten into the parental psych-out. It was all reverse psychology and double bluffs and 'let's treat each other like equals'. I suspected that at least some of this was coping mechanisms she'd picked up from Edriss but it wasn't like I could exactly disclose those suspicions to her or my dad. But to be fair, I wasn't nine years old anymore, either.

"I'm worried about Jake," I said finally. "He's been a mess, nothing any of us has done has gotten through to him in the slightest, and he seems so fragile that he'll crack under the slightest pressure. And the pressure in the courtroom isn't exactly going to be slight."

"All right," Mom said. She leaned forward in her chair, steepling her fingers. I tried to recall if she used to do that before she was infested. I couldn't remember. "So let's say Jake is losing his grip. He gets here in twenty-four hours. What's the worst that could happen?"

"Well, I guess he could go nuts in the courtroom, morph tiger, chew up the visser, and get shot," I said.

Mom scoffed. "Oh, come on, Marco," she said. "You've got to do better than that. Jake's way, way too smart to blow off his life on a slapdash vigilante lunge that will just accomplish what Esplin already had coming. Let's rule 'death' out of the realm of possibility."

"Okay, then-"

"And you can cross 'infestation' off the list, while you're at it," Mom said dryly. "Go for something a little more low-stakes."

"He could freeze up in court while testifying," I said. "Not be able to testify at all. Embarrass himself, embarrass us, weaken the case against the visser. Damage his own reputation as a war hero."

Mom rolled her eyes. "Wrong again, kid," she said. "He sees this as his duty, no way he fluffs it completely. That kid was willing to end two of his own family members to bring this war to a close, you don't think he'll be able to dish the dirt when the chips are down? Nah, he's going to be fine during the prosecution's questioning. He's been rehearsing, just like you. The prosecution team told me so."

"Well, what about the defense team?" I asked.

"What defense team?" Mom said, rolling her eyes. "They go in, they ask some questions, they try to trip him up, they try to rattle him, the panel of judges, amazingly, is still sympathetic to the hometown boy who saved planet Earth. Not to mention, as long as he gets up there and tells the truth, Esplin is going to jail for the rest of his life. How many murders did you watch him commit? Dozens? Hundreds?"

My stomach gave an unpleasant flip-flop. "Gross, Mom," I said. "You're really sensitive to my traumatized psyche."

"Tough luck," she said. "Your dad and I were gonna flip a coin as to who was going to talk you out of this one, but he thought you might need the bad cop for this one." She was right, of course. Although it certainly wasn't pleasant to be reminded of the various and sundry murders, targeted killings, and extrajudicial assassinations I'd witnessed while fighting then-Visser Three, she was right that to some degree it felt better to have her call it like it was than to have my dad come up here and try to handle me with kid gloves. "So give me a break with the 'we might lose the case' thing. You're going to win the case. What's really bothering you?"

I blew out a breath of air. "I'm afraid that this is going to hurt Jake," I said. "This trial, I mean. That he's going to end up even worse off than he already is after having to go on the stand and deal with the high stakes of talking about the calls he made in front of the whole world. I'm afraid he's gonna shut down even worse than he already has and that there's nothing I can do about it."

My mom looked at me intently. "Ah," she said. "There we go. Now that's something that sounds more realistic."

"So you're saying you think we're doomed, too?" I asked.

"No, not necessarily," Mom said. "But I do think that it's a lot more likely that testifying is going to hurt Jake than any of the other scenarios you've drafted just now."

"What do you think I should do about it?" I asked.

"Let's think about it," Mom said. "You can't guarantee that Jake is going to come out swinging on the other side of this tribunal. You can't control what the defense lawyers will ask. But you can talk to the prosecution and try to develop a strategy for damage control when it comes to talking about stuff that you know is going to set him off. You can't control the media, but you sure as hell can influence how they tell the story they tell with the press conferences you decide to give and the talk shows you go on. You're already good at that."

I picked my tie back up and started to pick at the twisted knot I had managed to work into it. "Yeah, I guess so," I said. "But I don't see how any of that really helps Jake deal."

"I wouldn't underestimate your value to him in just keeping the media off his back," Mom said. "But look, I'm just telling you what I know as an ex-campaign manager. You're Jake's best friend. You know better than I would what will actually help him process all of this. And you know better than anyone not to expect instant results."

"What do you mean, I know better than anybody?" I asked. "Mom, you know me. I'm not exactly Dr Phil. I don't have a clue what to do to get him back to some semblance of a normal life. I don't even know what a normal life would mean for him."

"All right, let's try something different," Mom said. "What constitutes a normal life for you? What makes you feel peace or happiness or just normal teenager emotions?"

I was painfully reminded of the psychologist that my dad had taken me to after Mom's boating accident, but I didn't feel like my mom was trying to shrink me out. I still didn't love having all these touchy-feely conversations, but she was trying to help, and this was Mom, so I didn't want to blow her off. She knew what she was talking about, way more than my dad would.

"Let me think," I said. "I mean, I like giving interviews. I like signing product deals and meeting celebrities and stuff. I like being famous."

Mom rolled her eyes. "This is what I get for raising you in SoCal," she said. "Total vapidity when it comes to celebrity culture. No political consciousness to speak of."

"You're just jealous that I didn't bring you as my plus one when I went to that Santana concert with Gloria Estefan."

"I am not," Mom said indignantly.

"Are too," I said. "Dad told me you were fuming for weeks."

"Your father is an incurable fibber," Mom said.

"Look, if I'd know it was going to bother you so much, I wouldn't have used my plus one to invite J. Lo," I said.

Mom picked up a balled-up sock from the ground where I'd left it and threw it at me. I dodged expertly. "Ha!" I said. "Gotta get up a little earlier in the morning to hit an Animorph!"

My mom shook her head in a way that suggested her growing resignation to the fact that she couldn't outsmart me like she used to when I was eight. "All right, kid. Focus. Maybe going to movie premieres and shooting promos for Nike works for you, but you know Jake doesn't feel the same way about being a celebrity as you do. Let's try some other coping mechanisms."

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. As fun as it was to dry my tears with fistfuls of money (I had actually only done that once, and it turns out that US currency isn't that absorbent), the other main thing that had kept me centered in the last few months had been working with Ax and Cassie to ensure the success of the Hork-Bajir colony in Yellowstone and the Taxxon colony in the Amazon. I hadn't been quite as involved with the provisions for Yeerk _nothlits_ , but I had been helping out every now and then with Mom's efforts on behalf of ex-hosts. "I mean, having a real job helps," I said. "Like, having actual work to do, you know, with you and Cassie and Ax. But I don't know how that helps Jake."

"You don't think Jake could find something to do?" Mom asked.

"Maybe he could," I said doubtfully. "But it definitely couldn't be the same kind of stuff that Cassie and you and I are involved in."

"How so?" Mom asked.

I think she already knew the answer, but she knew that thinking out loud helped me. "Because he'd mess it up," I said. "We're trying to negotiate for a UN nature reserve in the Amazon for the Taxxon _nothlits_ , right? If Jake came the negotiating table, the Brazilian government would have no choice but to cede a ton of territory to the reserve on whatever terms we asked for it, because it was Jake Berenson who was asking, but then they'd feel taken advantage of for the next fifty years on account of the small country's worth of acreage that they gave up to the cause. Cassie and I already have to be careful as it is. Maybe he'd be better positioned to work in extraterrestrial relations, but even then, most of the players at the table on our side kind of want to save him for bigger battles. While everything is still going smoothly in the honeymoon period, trotting out the big guns is going to come across like a power play. Basically, he's too important to be used for anything."

"Okay," Mom said. "But having plenty to keep you busy isn't the only thing that's helping you keep it together. You mentioned Cassie and Ax three times in the last two minutes."

"I get what you're saying," I said. "But trying to get him and Cassie to hang out is a non-starter. Too much history. And Ax is off-world most of the time. So that just leaves me. And Jake won't return my calls."

"All right, all right," Mom said. It sounded like she felt like her pep talk was losing steam. "Look, Jake is just in a very different place in his adjustment process than you are. What helped you when you were feeling really, really bad? When you felt like there was no hope and everything you'd done up to that moment was pointless?"

"Like this conversation?" I asked, then regretted it.

Mom just laughed. "Okay, I admit it, after five years of being the host for the most vicious Yeerk in the Empire, I'm still getting used to this whole 'feelings' thing again," she said. "Try not to hold it against me."

"Why don't you just tell me what you do when you're depressed?" I asked. "You seem to have a lot of the answers, why don't you tell me what you think I should do to help Jake?"

"Because I'm an ex-host," Mom said promptly. "What I'm going through is one hundred percent different than what you and Jake and Cassie and Tobias are going through." I winced a little at Tobias' name, but I don't think Mom noticed. "Look, I'm trying to strategize for how to deal with things like forgetting to eat and sleep and pee and not sit in one place for ten hours at a time because I didn't remember that I could move. As incredible as it sounds, I didn't lose anybody close to me the way you all did. In fact, I got you and your father back. The kind of trauma I have to carry is qualitatively different than yours. The tools I use are different than the tools you have at your disposal." Mom used to talk like that even before the war. Apparently it was a holdover from growing up under a dictatorship in a pro-democratic family. A lot of it went over my head even now, but it made more sense now than it had back then.

"Huh," I said. Something about the idea of a different toolset clicked. "I guess sometimes when I just need to move and get out of the house, I'll go flying. Maybe check in on Jake or Cassie or just do a sweep of the perimeter."

"So doing surveillance makes you feel safer?" Mom asked.

"Not exactly," I said. "Getting into the animal mind helps. Not to go totally Bird-Boy on you or anything, but even in small doses, morphing helps. Gives you a new perspective on things. Helps you set aside your troubles for a while. Gives you a respite from your thoughts."

"Interesting," Mom said. "So how can you put that to use? Maybe see if you can convince Jake to go flying with you some day before the tribunal? Blow off some steam?"

I considered that. "Maybe," I said. "I don't know how often you've tried to convince Jake to do something he doesn't want to do, but it's not all that easy." I picked morosely at my tie without much hope of salvaging it.

"That's because you're his age," Mom said. "I bet I could still strongarm him into coming to dinner one night this week, if you want me to try."

I pulled apart the knot in the tie with a crow of victory. "For real?" I asked. "That would be great, actually."

"You bet," Mom said. "And you know what? Why don't you invite Ax, too? "You said that you were worried about seeing him."

"What?!" I asked. "You remembered that I said that?"

"You gotta get up a little earlier in the morning to keep me from paying attention to gossip about my son's love life," Mom said. I flopped back down on my bed in despair. "Let's just make it simpler on you both. We can get Jake to come by telling him Ax is coming and vice versa. And then you can see where things stand with Ax for the first time after him shipping out without having to ask him out on a real date."

"Have you seen Ax eat?" I asked. "Like, are you prepared for the carnage?"

"Yes, honey, I know," Mom said. "Don't worry. We'll put down plastic on the table and the floor."

"Rude."

"He won't know to be offended."

"I don't know about this," I said.

"Don't be chicken," Mom said. "It's the best way to get Jake out of the house and give you a chance to see Ax in a social setting. Of course, that does put us in a weird position as far as Cassie goes if we invite everybody but her..."

"No, it's perfect," I said. Now that I was thinking about it, it wasn't such a bad idea after all. I hadn't wanted to own up to the fact that I actually was pretty nervous about seeing Ax again after a couple of months of strictly businesslike contact. And it would be a lot easier to rope Jake into hanging out if somebody else was already committed to coming. "Cassie won't want to come if Jake is coming since they're broken up. Anyway, she doesn't get into town until later for the preliminary hearing. She asked to be scheduled towards the end for her vet classes or something."

"So does that mean you're seeing the light?" Mom asked. "You're in?"

I hesitated for a second. I had to hand it to her, it was pretty strategic. In terms of getting Jake to return my calls, using her leverage as a parent and the fact that he had to hang out with Ax sometime was really smart. Of course, that meant that I had to pull myself together and deal with whatever was going on with me and Ax.

I could do that. I could.

Right?

"Let's do it," I said.

"Great," Mom said, suddenly all business. "Today's Wednesday, right? The preliminary hearing starts on Monday? Let's do a Friday night. Gives Ax and Jake a day to get settled in town but before the hearing starts. Who knows, maybe we can angle our way into doing this more often. I'll cook. Or, at least, me and Peter will cook. Or Peter will do most of the cooking while I spend ten hours in witness prep. Basically, I'll take care of cooking. Your responsibility is to get in touch with Ax and Jake. I'll call Jean and see if she can apply some vertical pressure as well."

"Sometimes you genuinely frighten me," I said. "You get a glint in your eye and suddenly you're snapping orders like a general."

"Maybe I'll get lunch with Cassie later or something," Mom said, not paying me any mind. "I've been meaning to catch up with her on what her people are doing in terms of strategy for the Hork -Bajir citizenship debate anyway."

"Ugh," I said, pulling out my phone and looking through my message log. "What am I even supposed to tell Ax?"

"I leave it in your capable hands, heartbreaker," Mom said, getting to her feet and peeling off a couple of clean-but-unfolded undershirts that had stuck to her jeans with static cling.

I groaned. "But I haven't even talked to him in months, it's just been about work stuff-"

"I'm not having it, Marco. You talk such a big game when it comes to romance, let's see you play it."

"You're a terrible influence," I said. "Moms are supposed to tell you things like 'don't date until you're thirty' and 'I don't see what you see in him' and  'be back by ten-thirty,' not 'don't hate the player, hate the game.'"

"To be honest, I'm kind of hoping that all the insecurity and anxiety of crushing on someone when you're not sure how they feel about you will knock you down a peg, because you've been getting on your dad's and my nerves going on about what a big star you are and how everybody's in love with you," Mom said.

"Well, they are!" I said. "Also, really? You're heartless. I'm your son."

"Don't you have a press conference to get ready for?" Mom asked. "You're going to crease that suit if you don't get up. Hand me that tie."

I got up, crossed the room, and handed her the tie. She looped it over my head and started to tie it for me. "Dad was right," I said. "You are the bad cop."

"Guilty as charged," Mom said. "But your father doesn't know how to tie a tie, either." She completed the knot. "You can tighten it how you like. Tell them dinner is going to be at seven. You need to be downstairs and in the car in five minutes to make the press conference briefing." She turned to go.

"Mom?" I called after her.

"What?" She turned back to face me. For a second I saw the bruises and shattered bones and bloodshot eyes that she'd had when we'd rescued her swimming over her now-healed face. Then I blinked at it was gone.

"Thanks," I said.

She laughed, a little sardonically. "Admit it, kid," she said. "You're kind of a softie."

"Never."

"See you in five," she said on her way out.

I turned back to the mirror and straightened my tie. It looked pretty good. My hair had gotten a little ruffled, so I ran a comb through it quickly. Then I took a look at my phone, scrolling through three months' worth of texts and calls with Ax. Most of the calls were under thirty minutes and the messages were brief. Still, there were never longer than a day or two where we had been out of communication since Ax had texted me back in August after a month of radio silence with an increasingly-complicated series of diplomatic questions about American civics that had eventually cumulated in a synchronized screening of some pertinent Schoolhouse Rock episodes. Even though I had well and truly gotten to the point of infatuation where I felt my stomach give a backflip every time I heard my ringtone, looking back through the texts and thinking about the phone calls, most of them had been depressingly professional. Nonetheless, the long-distance had probably still cost the US Armed Forces a cool million. I scrolled to the most recent exchange.

- _Where are you staying in the Hague?_

_\- The Andalite embassy is renting a hotel near the courthouse with a garden and extensive security provisions._

_\- Just out of curiosity, how are you guys paying for all this?_

_\- We promised the Dutch government clean energy technology sufficient to power their country for one hundred and fifty years._

_\- Well, that would do it._

I took a deep breath. Ran through about a zillion different drafts of the message I wanted to write in my head. Committed maybe six of them to the screen before deleting them. Finally settled on ‘hey, my mom wants to have you over for dinner on Friday, 7pm. Jake is coming. There will be food. Let me know if you can make it, because we'll have to buy twice as many groceries if you are.’ I steadied myself and hit send.

Well, that was that. Time to go downstairs and face the press. I straightened my tie one more time and started down the steps.

Before I reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, I heard my ringtone sound. "This is Major Tom to Ground Control, I'm stepping through the door, And I'm floating in a most peculiar way-" I flipped open my phone and cut off the ringtone.

_I appreciate the offer and would be delighted to attend._

I flipped the phone shut in triumph and stepped out the door to flashbulbs bursting in my face to step into the waiting limo. Today might be okay after all.

 


	2. chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm terrible at thanking reviewers but I really do love and appreciate every single word of the reviews I receive on this series. Your reviews fill my day with nerdy high-octane joy. Keep 'em coming. <3
> 
> I'm definitely adopting some headcanons from the [Eleutherophobia](https://archiveofourown.org/series/151619) about Eva post-war organizing ex-hosts and the experience of being an ex-host, so huge shoutout to [SoloMoon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoloMoon/pseuds/SoloMoon) for being a hero to us all.

"You nervous?" my dad asked at six-fifty-five as I paced around the small kitchen of our villa.

"Shut up," I said, sitting down on a barstool at the counter and willing myself to stay still.

"I was nervous before I introduced your mother to my parents," my dad said, a mushy expression taking up residence on his face as he poured out ingredients for the vinaigrette. "I broke out in hives after lunch."

"Dad!" I said. "Now's not the time. They could be here any minute."

It was too late. Dad was already waxing eloquent as he stoppered the dressing bottle and shook up the oil and vinegar. "I was pacing so much that our downstairs neighbor came around to complain. I had to take a walk. I shouldn't have worried, though. Naturally your mother charmed them on sight."

"Dad, you've already met Ax," I said. "You and Mom both have spent tons of time with him. You built a Z-space transponder together."

"I remember my mother made lobster ravioli," Dad went on, heedless of my protests. "But we had all forgotten that your mom's allergic to shellfish. After a lovely evening, her face started swelling halfway through the entree and my dad and I had to take her to the hospital."

"What kind of story is this?" I demanded. "If you're trying to encourage me, you're not exactly knocking it out of the park."

"Who said anything about encouragement?" Dad asked. "I just wanted to know if you were nervous."

"My parents are lunatics," I said to no one in particular.

"Well, we did produce you," Dad said.

I rolled my eyes and checked my hair in the dark glass of the microwave. It looked pretty much the same as it always did, which is to say, pretty darn good. There was pretty much just nothing else to do. Dad had been cooking all afternoon, Mom had come by in a whirlwind of activity after witness prep and spruced the place up (not that there was that much to do, we had just moved into the rental unit, after all), and I had gotten both Jake and Ax to agree to come and then followed up with several friendly reminders. Just little things like 'be on time or my mom will be mad' and 'try not to eat until you throw up this time, I know it's hard for you but we have to maintain at least a semblance of dignity' (that last one was directed at Ax, just in case you were concerned.) Either they were going to show up or they weren't.

There was a knock at the door. "I'll get it!" I said, springing up out of the chair and into action. I ran to the door and then took a second to take a calming breath. "Keep it cool, keep it cool, keep it cool," I muttered to myself. I opened the door.

"Oh," I said, my face falling.

"Nice to see you too, Marco," Jake said with a grin. "Expecting somebody else?"

I backpedaled. "Good to see you!" I said. I went in for a hug, which seemed to alarm and discombobulate the fearless leader, but I had already committed, so I had to see it out. Jake stood with his hands by his sides for an awkward moment, and then after a moment, he patted my back gingerly. Well, this was going well. I let go and tried to pretend like everything was cool. "Come on in, my dad made some spinach pastries."

Jake accepted this news without visible expression. I took that as an affirmative. "Follow me," I said. I turned around and walked back into the kitchen. Thankfully, I could hear Jake's footsteps on the carpet behind me. I pulled out a barstool and sat down. Jake sat down at the end of the counter.

"So, are the appetizers ready yet, Dad?" I asked.

He turned away from the salad, where he was sprinkling in pine nuts. "It'll just be a few minutes," he said. "Jake, good to see you."

"You too," Jake said in a flat voice. I took a surreptitious look at him. Some of his flat affect was just the general depression he seemed to have fell into since the end of the war and the deal with the Andalites. But there seemed to be more than just sadness in his demeanor. He gave off an impression of barely-contained nervous energy, as though he was vibrating with repressed anxiety. Maybe he was worried about testifying, too.

"So, Jake," my dad said, toasting pine nuts with abandon. "What have you been up to these days?"

"Not much," Jake said. "Just, you know. Hanging out."

"Have you decided when you're going to write that autobiography?" Dad asked.

"Uh," Jake said eloquently. "I don't know."

"Why do you care, Dad?" I asked. "Jake barely passed tenth-grade English. Why are you pestering him to write a book?"

"It sets a good example for you," Dad said. "You need to do something constructive with your time. Life can't all be about going to concerts and restaurant openings. Plus, Eva and I are counting on that money to take care of us in our old age."

"You're going to be lucky to get an old age," I grumbled, but I couldn't feel too irritated. A slow smile was spreading across Jake's face.

"Eva is going to be paying off medical bills for the next twenty years after all the surgery she needed to rebuild her knee and hip," Dad told Jake. "We're trying to get Marco to start putting some money away in an escrow instead of frittering it all away on sneakers."

"Two pairs!" I said. "I bought two pairs of Air Jordans, and now I'm never going to hear the end of it."

"Jake, you're an intelligent young man. Maybe you can provide some insight as to how my son's mind works," Dad said. "Now, why would anyone need two pairs of three-hundred dollar sneakers? Does Marco have four feet?"

"Jake, don't answer that," I said. "And don't be taken in. Mom and Dad like to play the 'Visser One's host' card with a lot of woe-is-me BS about broken kneecaps and medical bills and stuff, but that's not why they're hitting me up for money. Mom keeps paying other ex-hosts' legal fees when they get arrested at protests. She's a soft touch."

"That sounds like a more noble use of your money than multiple pair of Jordans," Jake pointed out unhelpfully.

"But it's my money!" I said. "Look, how often do you have to bail your mom out of jail?"

"My mom's been going to the ex-host support group meetings, too," Jake said, somewhat defensively, like he felt that his mother's status as a badass was somewhat in question.

"All I'm saying is, I don't want my book's revenue to become the Ex-Hosts' Rights Legal Defense Fund," I said.

Mom, who chose exactly that moment to come into the kitchen from doing her hair and makeup, wrapped both of us in a hug. "That sounds like a great idea, Marco," she said. "I'm so glad you volunteered."

As the conversation went on, it was clear that Jake was still much more reserved and awfully high-strung with the stress of the tribunal coming up, but he managed to keep up with conversation. He sat quietly and listened to us chatter on but made occasional comments and answered direct questions in some detail. This was a lot more than I could say for many of my previous attempts at normal conversation. Things were going so swimmingly that he even managed to make fun of me for giving an obvious start when the doorbell rang again.

With Jake safely engaged in listening to a story about my mom's organization for ex-hosts, I went to open the door. This time I really was panicking. This dinner was proving nearly as nerve-wracking as the press conference had been. Fortunately, by the time I swung the door open, Ax's outfit pretty much drove everything else out of my mind. He was wearing a tie-dyed shirt that was two or three sizes too small for him, a woolen scarf that looked like it was for skiing wound around his head in a sidewinding fashion, and khaki slacks, which were on backward. He was also wearing socks on his hands like mittens.

"Okay," I said, "who on earth was in charge of dressing you? I want their name and rank."

"Why?" Ax asked, his ridiculously-beautiful eyes blinking out of sight in confusion.

"So that I can get them fired," I said. "You look like you got dressed in the dark on laundry day, but on Ambien."

Ax looked down at his outfit. The one spring of hair on the top of his head that wasn't cemented in place by the scarf bobbed forlornly. "I chose these items of artificial clothing myself," Ax said. "As the resident expert on humans. I correctly identified a shirt, pants, and several accessories."

As dismal as his attempt at high fashion had gone, I didn't want to start off the first time I'd seen Ax in months by telling him he'd done a terrible job trying to dress himself. "You get points for trying," I said. "Come on in, we'll get it sorted out." Ax stepped inside with trepidation (I think more about being on two legs than anything else) and I called for Jake to help get Ax sorted out. I could probably have done it faster myself, but a) I thought it was a little untoward of me to start tearing off my ex's clothes the minute he walked in the door, even if he did look like a maniac let loose inside of a Goodwill sorting facility, and b) I wanted him to see Ax's outfit before we fixed it. Jake managed to get Ax straightened out with brisk efficiency, and I retreated to the kitchen for decency's sake.

By the time that fiasco was over and settled, it was time to eat. We had decided ahead of time to just leave Ax to his own devices, as far as food went, unless (or rather, until) he tried to eat something that would actually hurt him. So we tried not to harp on him too much for little niceties like the importance of chewing, making a huge mess and not eating straight butter.

The outfit, however, was a different story. Key members of the Andalite fleet and diplomatic corps had to make appearances as humans with some regularity, and, as we learned through some judicious questioning, Ax had been providing fashion advice for all of them.

"How were you all opening doors in morph?" Jake asked, dumbfounded, as Ax licked the dressing off a leaf of romaine lettuce. "Did you put socks on their hands every time?"

"I suppose we generally were in the middle of a group of humans, and doors were usually opened for us," Ax said.

"But look, Andalites already have hands," my mom said. "Surely it was apparent to you that putting socks over your fingers wasn't a great idea."

"You humans wear artificial hooves at all times," Ax pointed out. "We also have legs, yet we do not wear artificial hooves."

"Ax, how have things been going at work?" I asked, trying to change the subject. Ax's eyes lit up and he started going on a long tangent about introducing Andalites to the joys of taste and how he was doing some kind of gardening project and some light harmonic physics on the side. It was nice to see him so animated, but as the conversation went on, I saw Jake's expression grow more and more blank, as if he was checking out by degrees. I tried to get him talking about his parents ("they're doing fine"), where he was staying ("just some place the embassy found for me"), or even if he had plans for the rest of the week after the hearing ("not really, I don't know, probably not"), but nothing I said seemed to shake him out of the monotone blankness into which he seemed to be rapidly sinking.

Eventually, my mom intervened, and started asking some questions about politics. In the Alvarez Guerra family, we've never had a rule that you don't talk politics at the table. My mom had been a campaign manager, so it had pretty much been expected. Not so at Jake's house. He seemed kind of surprised to realize that my mother was asking him a question about the access road to Yellowstone that had created such a stir for Cassie, but it did seem to shake him out of that horrible inward-focused dull nothingness that he'd been sinking into. He ventured some opinions. He even made a joke. It was impressive. I shot my mom a thumbs up when Jake got up to get Ax some additional paper towels.

By dessert, the conversation had cycled back around to Ax's questionable fashion choices.

"Look, here's the long and short of it," my dad said. "I've seen you try to pass for human before, son, and you just don't have the hands-on experience. Save the fleet some trouble and hire a designer who can whip up a respectable-looking uniform for Andalite military officials, and then have everybody else who comes to Earth on official business wear black or gray suits with white dress shirts and dress shoes. Don't get too creative."

"But I'm the fleet's expert on humankind," Ax said.

"And you're doing a pretty good job not ruining the electronics market and setting up the trial," I said. "But nobody expects you to be a fashionista on top of that."

The thoughtful expression on Ax's face was somewhat ruined by the glob of whipped cream clinging to his cheekbone. "How might I get in touch with a human who specializes in arranging artificial skin?" he asked.

"I'll see if I know anybody who knows anybody," I told him. "I'll text you when I have something definite."

As the conversation went on, I realized that the only way to keep Jake engaged and present was to actively ask him questions and make him stay involved in what was going on. "Do you know any designers, Jake?" I asked.

"No," he said. "I did get to meet LeBron James, though. He has a clothing line."

"Did you get his phone number? Email address? Add him on Friendster?"

"I might have gotten a business card..." Jake said, putting on his thinking face.

"Well, that'll have to do, Grandpa," I said. "What color do you think the Andalites' uniform should be?"

"They can't look like any US military uniforms," Jake said vaguely. "Or British. Or French. Or Canadian. Or German. Or-"

"Okay, okay," I said. "And they can't be direct rip-offs of the Vatican Swiss Guard. I get it. But what color should they be?"

"Well, Andalites are blue," Jake said. "So maybe blue?"

"Actually," Ax said, breaking in, "Andalite coat color varies significantly across age and gender. Female Andalites tend to have more violet fur, while male Andalites tend more towards a cerulean coloring. Andalites are born with darker, more monochromatic coats, which grow more tan as they age. Additionally, Andalite coat thickness varies seasonally and depending on their place of origin. Their place in their family's birth order also plays a significant role in their coat pattern. Firstborn children have single-color coats, while later-born children often exhibit striping or spotting that grows more prominent depending on the number of older siblings they have due to hormonal changes in the uterine environment."

This was the longest I had ever heard Ax talk without playing with a couple of syllables. I think all of us were fairly impressed. "How come Gafinilan had such shiny, metallic-looking fur?" Jake asked.

"That was purely cosmetic," Ax said. "It comes from applying the oil from a _gegala_ flower while bathing. It is most strongly associated with military discipline and secondarily-" he broke off. If my eyes didn't deceive me, he was blushing a little.

"Well, you can't stop there," my dad said. "What else does it mean if your coat is all shiny?"

"This opinion is not widely held by middle-aged Andalites," Ax said. "I suppose  _gegala_ oil treatments are simply less popular with Andalites of my generation."

"So?" my mom asked. "What does it mean?"

"Well," Ax said. "It makes you look very... taken. It basically screams 'not available'. No one my age would dream of shining their coat if they were single. They would look ridiculous. Only middle-aged male Andalites in very serious relationships use _gegala_ , because it takes at least ten years to cultivate the shrub before it starts to produce oil, and it takes two pairs of hands to trim it. It is often a wedding gift. Thus its domestic associations."

"So it's dad fashion?" my mom asked.

I exchanged looks with Jake. "So you're saying Gafinilan's shiny fur was basically the Andalite equivalent of wearing a fanny pack to a concert?" I asked.

"I'm not sure if I understand that metaphor," Ax said.

"Hey!" Dad said. "I wore a fanny pack to the last concert that we went to, Marco."

"Then perhaps yes," Ax said.

"Ooooo," I said, turning to Dad. "You got served!"

"I told you not to wear that, Peter," my mom said. "I told you it aged you. But did you listen to me?"

"All right, Ax," Dad said. "You're on probation for potential son-in-law until further notice. Jake, you're the frontrunner again."

"Again?" Jake said. "When was the first time?"

"Oh, honey, you were the top pick for a long time," my mom said.

"Mom!" I said, burying my face in my hands. "Stop!"

"Are your parents implying that at one point they considered it likely that you and Prince Jake would become espoused?" Ax asked with a truly alien candor.

"I hate all of you," I said to the floor, having put my head down on the table.

"Wait, what?" Jake said, apparently still a little slow on the uptake. He sounded a little shocked. He'd probably have looked more shocked if he hadn't still been driving in second gear on the freeway emotionally, but oh well.  "Did Marco like me? Like, like?"

"Just for the record, I'm still in the room," I said, my voice muffled by my arms and the placemat. "Despite my best efforts to evaporate in shame."

"Marco had a hopeless crush on you from the age of eight to ten," Dad said. I wondered if it was likely that I would spontaneously start morphing. Maybe I could be trapped as a flea _nothlit_. At least fleas don't have a sense of hearing.

"But in fairness to him, you were friends for a long time before that," my mom was saying. "And a long time afterwards. He pretty much lost interest when it became clear that you were straight."

I looked up at Ax. "Hey, could you demorph?" I asked. "I need you to perform a mercy killing. Just put me out of my misery real quick."

"Is he serious?" Ax asked Jake. "Reee-us. Re-us."

"No, he's just being a diva," Jake said. "Chill out, Marco, you're not the only one who had embarrassing crushes as a kid."

"Oh yeah?" I shot back. "Care to enlighten us?"

"Not really," Jake said.

"No way," I said. "It's only fair."

"Well, this one is kind of horrible," Jake said. "I'm only telling you this out of pure self-interest. I'm warning you in advance."

"Let's hear it then," my mom said. "No more stalling."

"Just so it's clear that I'm only divulging this information under duress," Jake said. "But Rachel totally had a crush on Mrs. Chapman in fourth grade."

"What?" I said. "Our principal? Melissa's mom?"

"That's the one," Jake said. "I guess she just really thought her pantsuits were cool."

"What a nerd," I said gleefully. "That girl never did have good taste."

Ax, who clearly hadn't followed very much of this conversation at all, did manage to take it upon himself to look offended at the slight to Tobias.

"It should be said that we kept on rooting for you long after Marco had moved on," Dad said. "So you maintained your position as frontrunner in the parental leaderboard for a lot longer than you might have otherwise. Of course, the first time I met Ax, before I knew that he was an alien, I was still kind of hoping Marco would change his mind."

"Is it customary for human parents to begin to plan for their children's betrothal after brief casual meetings with their potential romantic partners?" Ax asked. "We have a much more ritualized process for preparing a family to gain a new member by marriage."

"Customary?" Jake asked, looking thoughtful. "Probably not. Typical, definitely."

"Don't let my mom and dad off the hook, Jake," I said. "They're maniacs, both of them."

"Well," Jake said, "if it cheers you up at all, my mom and dad practically started printing save the date cards when I told them I was taking Cassie to homecoming in ninth grade."

It did make me feel better, but the look on his face, as if a door in his head had slammed shut and no more conversations about the past were getting in or out, definitely had a chilling effect. Then, with what looked like some mental effort, he asked me a question. "Just out of curiosity," Jake asked. "How come you never told me about any of this? Just waiting until you were really sure that we were good enough friends that it wouldn't be weird? Figured you'd better wait for that two-hundred-battles mark before you could tell me that you liked me in elementary school?"

"I was planning on 'never', on account of it being embarrassing, awkward, and _unnecessary_ ," I said, shooting my parents a dirty look at that last word. "But barring that, yeah, I figured, better to wait until we both have three kids. Or until we're in a nursing home. Or ideally until one of us is dead."

"Sorry to ruin your great plan," my mom said in a stage whisper.

"I am confused," Ax said. "Marco once harbored a clandestine romantic interest for Prince Jake as a child? But he now finds the fact of the matter a cause for humiliation because those sentiments were unreciprocated?"

"Yes," I said. "Please, keep summarizing this train wreck of a conversation. Mom, did you invite Jake to this just to embarrass me?"

"Hey, you're the one who bought a beach house instead of opening an escrow fund like we suggested," my mom said. "It's not like I can ground you."

"We didn't have a house!" I protested. "We were homeless!"

"You don't need a nine-bedroom beachfront mansion to avoid vagrancy," Mom shot back.

"Your idea was to move back to our cabin in the Hork-Bajir valley!"

"Oh, look at the time," my dad said. "We'd better go ahead and make the decaf so that you two can get home by ten. Eva, could you help me with the plates?"

Not my dad's finest work when it came to subject-changing, but did the trick. My mom grabbed the entree and starting getting the coffee ready while my dad and I cleared the table. "I'll take care of it, don't worry about it," Dad told me when I started filling up the sink with dishwater. "Go talk to your friends."

I sat back down at the table. Jake and Ax were making conversation, but it was clear that Jake was struggling somewhat. I tried to salvage what sounded like a very boring exchange about rewriting the Andalite equivalent of the Constitution to get rid of Seerow's Kindness. "Speaking of morphing," I said, probably less subtly than I wanted it to be, "Ax, do you need to demorph? It's almost nine."

"I have approximately fifteen of your minutes left in morph," Ax said. "Prox. Is this 'decaf' to which your parents referred good to drink?"

I shuddered. "No."

"You also said that about engine grease," Ax said, "which proved to be quite false."

"This is worse than engine grease," Jake said. "I've had their decaf before. This time I might make up a flu or something to avoid it."

"You will have to act with some rapidity," Ax said. "It seems the process to make this disliked beverage is already underway." He started making a humming sound with the letter V.

"I have an idea," I said. "Jake, have you played the new Mario Kart yet? This house has a gaming system with hella surround sound. it's definitely worth a test drive."

"I thought it wasn't out yet," Jake said. He looked somewhat interested, as though the dark fog that had been settling over him was being blown away.

"Since when has that stopped me?" I asked. He raised an eyebrow. "Okay, they gave me an advance copy. But come on, we have to give it a shot."

Maybe motivated in part by his desire to avoid decaf with my parents, Jake nodded. "Wait until you see this TV room," I said. "It's like something out of a magazine spread." I showed them downstairs to the viewing room.

Ax watched us argue over who got to be Toad and which route we were going to do with some interest. I offered him a controller but he just said that he didn't have enough time left in morph. He did have some insightful questions about gameplay, though, like "can a banana peel really disable a vehicle in Earth's gravity?" and "are the locations pictured in this game real?" Jake, to my surprise, seemed to genuinely enjoy the game. Something about how immediate and tactile it was, or the fact that it didn't involve much talking or worrying about weighty moral choices. It kind of felt like old times. I should send Steve Jobs flowers.

I had beaten Jake's sorry butt twice by the time Ax said, "I have a briefing at nine-thirty, so perhaps I should go. I do not wish to be late."

"Oh," I said, turning around to look at him and sending Waluigi careening over the side of the path in Rainbow Road. "You're leaving?"

It was surprising how solemn Ax could look with a small piece of lettuce in his hair. "Yes," he said. "Unfortunately I have other responsibilities."

I wondered for a second if he was mad at me for inviting him over and then spending most of the night paying all my attention to Jake. That certainly hadn't been the plan, but the state he'd been in, it was hard not to. Maybe my parents' little revelation had also put him on his guard. I searched his face. He was pretty hard to read. What should I do now? I glanced back at the TV, where Jake was navigating the Rainbow Road curves with dexterity and throwing red shell after red shell. This was the first thing he'd really seemed to enjoy all night.

The answer to the question 'who should I prioritize tonight?' was depressingly obvious, I just didn't like it. But Jake had been my friend since we were in diapers. And Ax seemed to be doing just fine in the Andalite fleet. And unlike Jake, he returned my calls, so if I wanted to hang out with him again, I could at least try, even if I was torpedoing my chances right now.

"Okay," I said, setting my controller down. "I can see you out if you want."

"No, please don't trouble yourself," Ax said. “I immediately memorized the layout of the house upon entry, and besides, I will say goodbye to Peter and Eva before departing. You are losing badly at this fantastical driving competition."

I looked back to the screen. He was right. Jake was busy making up for lost time. He had already lapped me once. "All right," I said. "I guess I'll see you tomorrow at the hearing."

"Of course," Ax said. "Goodbye, Prince Jake. It was excellent to consume human starches, proteins, and vegetables with you."

Jake looked up from his game and immediately crashed. "Oh, okay," Jake said, shaking himself out of his absorption with the game. "It was really good to see you too, Ax. We need to schedule a meeting sometime soon to talk about Lockheed."

"Agreed," Ax said. Was it just my imagination, or did he straighten up a little when he talked to Jake? He didn't actually snap to a salute, but it was a close-run thing. "My office will contact yours early next week."

"Sounds good," Jake said. "Take care of yourself."

"I enjoin you to exercise appropriate caution in all matters as well," Ax said. "Marco, too."

I sat back down on the couch in a bad mood. "Yeah, right back atcha," I said grumpily.

Ax wasn't good enough at reading social cues and Jake was too checked out to notice my bad attitude, so Ax just nodded in our general direction, turned, and left, and Jake turned back to the screen. "Looks like we're two to one now," he said.

"Good for you," I said, still grumpy.

I tried to control my bad mood as we started another round. It wasn't like Jake had asked me to play video games instead of hanging out one on one with Ax, I had decided to do so with no prompting from either of them. It wasn't really even Jake's fault that he was a mess post-war while Ax and I were doing our level best to pick up the pieces. It wasn't like he was trying to keep me from seeing Ax. Unfortunately that was just how it had all happened. Sighing for reasons that had nothing to do with the game, I pushed Jake's character off a bridge but it didn't improve my mood that much.

Then I heard the first three notes of 'Space Oddity' and flipped open my phone in a rush while Jake picked the next course. _I thought it best that I leave for Prince Jake's sake. I perceived that he was more at peace with fewer people around._

Jake had started the next round, so either I waited until we were done, or I super-obviously ignored what we were doing to text Ax about him in front of him. I was awfully tempted, but I decided to be a somewhat decent person and wait until we'd gone a few laps before I threw the match. In fairness to myself, I did try to make it look convincing. Just as we went back to the start menu, I got another text.

"What's that noise?" Jake asked, literally acting like a grandfather.

"Nothing," I said. I flipped open my phone again. _I do, however, have an actual briefing. If you would like to, we can meet after it is finished._ My heart skipped a beat. I did my best to look casual as I hurriedly set the phone to silent. "All right, get ready, because this time you're going down."

"As if!" Jake said. "I just won the last two rounds. I'm getting the hang of this."

I didn't have the heart to tell him the only reason he'd beaten me the last two times was because I was dedicating eighty percent of my current brainpower to determining whether this did or did not qualify as a booty call and whether that did or did not matter. But now at least I was pretty determined not to let him win again, so even when I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, I exerted enough willpower to maintain my concentration and throw down enough blue shells to make Jake wish he'd never stepped foot in Bowser's Castle. It was no good, though. I was still sufficiently distracted that Jake managed to beat me. It was almost a relief when I went sliding off the rails and into a chasm of lava.

"Not your best day, huh?" Jake asked.

"I've got a lot on my mind," I said.

"Yeah," Jake said. "With the hearing and everything."

"Uh huh," I said, refraining from elaborating further. I checked my phone surreptitiously. _I am anxious to discuss the season finale of Friends. I do not believe that choosing Chandler over Richard was consistent with Monica's meticulous personality._

I flipped my phone shut with a snap. Okay, maybe not a booty call, then. I was surprised to realize that I was more relieved than disappointed. It was kind of an awkward time to start dating again, even if it was nominally casual, because it was unlikely to be actually casual, and I wasn't prepared to get involved in a serious relationship. Even though I was in a much better place now than I had been when we broke up.

"Marco?" Jake asked. "I just asked, did you want to pick a course?"

"Uh," I said. Sharp, Marco. Real sharp. "Let's do Toad's Turnpike, you were always weak on that track."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Are you okay, Marco? I don't think I've ever beaten you three times in a row in any video game we've ever played and you're not even whining."

"Yeah, no, I'm okay," I said. "Sorry, just distracted."

"Uh huh," Jake said. "Well, tell Ax I said hi."

"What?" I asked, feigning innocence, probably badly.

"Look, I appreciate that you're hanging out with me over going out with him, but I can see you texting," Jake said. "You're not actually that sneaky."

"I guess I was wrong earlier when I thought I had already been thoroughly embarrassed," I said.

"You're just gifted like that," Jake said.

I picked up my phone and tossed it under the couch. "Okay, I'm done texting. Crushing you at Mario Kart now has my undivided attention for the rest of the night." I chose the racetrack and started the next round. "Sorry for being a jerk."

"I'm not mad," Jake said.

"Just disappointed?" I suggested.

"No, no," Jake said. "You're a good friend to clear your schedule to hang out with me, Marco. I really meant it when I said I appreciate this."

I didn't have any non-sarcastic answers to that uncomfortably self-aware expression of gratitude, so I went with the classic 'turn it into a joke and pretend like you're dead inside' route. "Just shut up and lose already," I said. "Where did you get this endless supply of banana peels?"

"Okay, man, good talk."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fyi Marco is trying but also pretty impatient with how he tries to support Jake's trauma in this chapter, so content note for well-intentioned but sub optimal approaches to peer support in this chapter.

After what turned out to be a surprisingly fun and un-awkward evening of video games with Jake (we eventually branched out into Super Smash Brothers to mix things up), he reverted to true grandpa form and said that he had to go to bed at eleven because he had to be up early for the preliminary hearings tomorrow.

"Dude, I'm going too," I said. "Don't tell me that you have to be up early. I, unlike you, accept the fact that I'm seventeen."

"I'm tired!" Jake said, suddenly tetchy. His mood swings were so charming. I couldn't for the life of me understand why he wasn't making tons of new friends. "This is the latest I've been out in, I don't know, three months."

"Okay, that's the saddest thing I've heard all week," I said. "And I read the full list of charges against the visser on Tuesday. Look, do you want to come with me to a club next weekend? You know what, you don't get a choice in the matter. We're going. Next Friday. Make sure you have an acceptable outfit. Also we're playing Mario Kart again on Wednesday. Deal?"

Jake looked mildly amused by my take-no-prisoners approach, but he agreed. I figured he'd probably flake out on at least one of those commitments but hey, you miss 100% of the shots you don't take. Then I waited until his car was actually around the block before ignoring my parents to dash down to the basement and recollect my phone from under the couch.

"Smooth," Mom said as I accidentally knocked over the couch in my haste to retrieve my phone (it was small, okay? European furniture is tiny. Have you ever been to an IKEA?). I hadn't noticed her sitting in the corner with a mug of coffee.

"I've put up with enough from you two today, I'm not taking any more today," I said, flipping through my messages. "Try coming back for some witty repartee tomorrow."

"Listen, kid," she said. "I'm not drinking coffee at quarter til eleven for my health. I've got a couple of conditions before you go out tonight and I suggest you get listening to them over with."

I put down my phone - it was mostly texts about how Ax was worried about Joey being on his own with Chandler getting married anyway - and rewarded Mom with my full attention. "What do you mean, conditions?"

"Your dad and I gave you a lot of leeway the last time you were going out with Ax-"

"-seeing as you couldn't stop me and I was _saving the world_ ," I muttered, but she kept going as if I hadn't spoken.

"-but that was martial law, so now that order has been restored, we're switching to a peacetime regime."

I could kind of see how this was going to go. Sure, morphing made me pretty much ground-proof, but then again, most kids my age know at least one way to sneak out of the house when they're grounded, so ultimately it boiled down to the same question that all teenagers live with: how much do I want to push the envelope? How much can I get away with before I make my parents mad for real? Ah, the joys of normal life.

I needed to get out of this conversation fast. I needed to inject some weirdness into my life again. I needed to go hang out with my alien ex-boyfriend and determine if he was still interested before the big war crimes legal hearing for a space invader.

"All right, let's hear it," I said.

"I want you home by twelve-thirty," Mom said.

"What?!"

"You're going to be on worldwide media tomorrow, so you can't look like you just pulled an all-nighter in front of all those high-def cameras without sparking an international gossip bonanza," Mom said. "Unless you want to be the face that launched a thousand talk-show segments..."

"Okay, okay," I said. "What else?"

"I also want Ax to be back at the embassy or wherever he's staying by twelve-thirty," Mom said. "For all the same reasons, and also to forestall the possibility that no doubt you've already started considering that he can come back here with you. Your father and I are putting our foot down on the whole 'romantic sleepover' thing, starting now."

"I notice _my father_ is not here," I said.

"Yeah," Mom admitted with a shrug. "He was chicken. But I've dealt with worse, so..."

I was slightly tempted to remind her that since I had killed Visser One, technically, that made _me_ worse, but I decided against it. "Nobody said anything about a quote-unquote romantic sleepover," I said, forming air quotes around the word romantic.

"Okay, Your Honor, since you're so intent to weasel your way out of this like a lawyer-" Mom was clearly fed up after a full day of witness prep "-I'm including potential romantic partners in the definition for any sleepover that might somehow become romantic. So there."

That was pretty hard to misunderstand, so I decided to move on. "Anything else?"

With total seriousness, Mom said, "it's up to you whether or not you want to take this advice, but given that you tend to jump into things feet first once you make up your mind about them, as evidenced by a) the Animorphs and b) dating Ax previously, we want to make a strong recommendation that you two stick to first and second base for the time being."

"Oooookay, I think this conversation has gone on long enough," I said. "Thanks for all the advice, remind me to bleach this conversation from my brain, using blunt force head trauma if necessary, it's been real-"

"Goodnight, Marco," Mom said. "Twelve-thirty."

With that truly horrifying conversation out of the way, I was off on my merry way.

By eleven, I was an osprey tapping on Ax's office window at a fancy embassy office downtown. Ax, who was now demorphed to Andalite, noticed me immediately and let me in. <I'm glad you could make it,> Ax said.

<Yeah, well,> I said. <It's a special occasion.>

<Would you like to do some sightseeing?> Ax asked. <I have been reading a guidebook for this area and it seems that there are many points of interest.>

I looked over. A copy of the Lonely Planet for the Netherlands was lying open facedown on the desk. It occurred to me that Ax had to be one of maybe even two dozen readers who hadn't bought that book for a pot tourism trip to Amsterdam. <Theoretically, yes,> I said. <But I think most of the tourist sites in town are locked down due to the trial.>

<I wasn't planning on going on foot,> Ax said, as he started to morph.

<Good thinking.>

Ax and I had never been much for the whole recreational flying during the war. We had better things to do, like watching TV, making out, and not exercising for fun. To be honest, I always kind of judged Rachel when she talked about going flying with Tobias. It was like, okay, we get it, you work out. You and your bird boyfriend do Crossfit. I just spent the last eight hours with _my_ boo trying to teach him to catch Cheezits in his mouth and watching Angel. Do you have to be like that all the time, even in your downtime? Take a day off from the full Xena. I knew that Tobias wouldn't know how to chill out if he was locked in an industrial refrigerator, but is that how you actually are, twenty-four seven?

But anyway. It was actually kind of nice. There weren't a lot of thermals, since it was nighttime, but we did owls and it was pretty cool. The sea air was fresh and crisp, the views were amazing, the lines were short. And it was kind of nice to do something where we could hang out without really talking. I guess anybody who saw us swooping around old churches and stuff would have been a little unnerved if they were superstitious, but that was their problem. We visited seven of the major landmarks identified by the good people of the Lonely Planet in half an hour. Best vacation to Europe ever, other than the trial, the media surrounding the trial, and my friends' and family's post-traumatic stress.

Time for some real talk, since I was already getting sick of hearing Ax ask how humans had built such tall structures with only two legs. <So,> I asked, when Ax had informed me that we had an hour and fifteen of my minutes left. <The last time we talked about it, you were kind of nervous about rejoining the fleet. How's that going?>

Ax readjusted his flight feathers. <In some ways better than I had hoped, in some ways worse,> Ax said. <I was somewhat apprehensive about meeting my parents again, since I had not technically completed the revenge ritual for Elfangor. But my parents are somewhat unconventional among Andalites. Previously I found this to be distasteful and patterned myself after my brother, who everyone knew was a famous war-hero. However, the more I learned of Elfangor's true deeds with the Time Matrix and his marriage to Loren here on Earth, the more I came to realize that he was just as nonconformist as the rest of the family.> He did the equivalent of a flying shrug. <I believe my time on Earth made me more skeptical and less willing to buy into what Tobias would call 'the party line.' This means that I get along much better with my parents than I did as a child, because they are also of a skeptical bent. But it means that I am encountering some resistance in the fleet.>

<Yeah, duh. The Andalite military is hella corrupt,> I said. <No offense, but that jerk Samilin from the Ascalin on Leera? Asculan? Even Alloran has a lot to answer for. There's plenty to fix when you're talking about Andalite foreign policy and general quantum-virus-first, ask-questions-later tactics.>

<You mean the inadequacies of Andalite treatment of other alien species is apparent to you as a human?> I actually turned my head to look at him, which is harder said than done while flying. <Yes. I am aware that my people must reform our military culture at a fundamental level. That was a joke. I was attempting to demonstrate sarcasm.>

<Whoa, you really have changed,> I said. <That was actually kind of funny, dude.>

<Thank you, Marco.>

<Oh look, you did it again!>

<That was not meant to be sarcastic,> Ax said.

<Oops.>

<Indeed.>

We flew in silence for a minute or two. <Ax?> I asked.

<Yes?>

<I know this is probably redundant,> I said. <But please be careful. It kind of sounds like you're playing with fire.>

<I _am_ being careful, > Ax said.

<Uh, I hate to break it to you, but it sounds like what you're doing going around the fleet and questioning stuff openly is making a ton of enemies who are really good at subterfuge.>

Ax puffed up his feathers in a very Tobias-like gesture. < I am not intimidated by the consequences, but I am being highly strategic in the battles that I pick. And my position is stronger than you would think. I have a great deal of popular support, not only for my role in the Earth theater during the war, but also for my challenge of Prince Asculan. There certainly may be many rogue, unethical or even traitorous members of the Andalite command structure, I believe that our institutions are strong, and I know that the electorate is on our side. I'm willing to play the long game for those stakes.> I couldn't tell if this was naivete, or Andalite optimism, or if he was actually right, but his little impromptu speech made my heart ache with something that I couldn't quite categorize as worry, pride, or fondness. For all my cynicism and ruthlessness, I couldn't deny that Ax's unironic idealism drew me in like a moth to  a flame, even if that moth was about to get the wrong end of the stick on natural selection.

<Okay, okay,> I said. <I'm not going to argue with you. Do what you feel like you have to do. But just tell me that if you get in over your head, you know who to turn to.> Ax didn't say anything for a second. <And by 'who to turn to,' I mean me, Jake and Cassie. Hell, even Tobias.>

<I am fighting a different war now,> Ax said. <And so are you.>

<If you think that makes a difference, you clearly don't understand humans as well as you think,> I snapped. I couldn't help it. I was making grandiose declarations of loyalty and Ax was being a pragmatist; something was bound to break.

<You have my word, Marco,> Ax said, suddenly solemn. <If I am ever in trouble, I will call on you.>

I didn't bother to clarify if he meant just me or all the Animorphs. Probably better for my ego that way. <Good,> I said. <Want to go see some more old churches?> We had already swooped around four or five and they were all starting to blend together for me.

<I have no particular interest to see more human religious edifices,> Ax said. <In all honesty, I would prefer that we return to my lodgings now.>

 _Oh dang_ , I thought, being the suave, worldly Casanova that I am. _That's one way of putting it._ My little bird heart started beating double-quick. <In all honesty,> I said, mimicking his formal tone, <I would like to party in your swanky hotel, but I think it would lead to me doing some stuff that would directly defy my parents' better judgment.>

<I will confess that I don't really understand what you are implying,> Ax said. <However, if you are interested in watching an episode of The Real World before you return home for the night, I've found that observing the antics of the current cast is quite helpful when it comes to deadening the mounting terror of facing Visser One in court with the eyes of the galaxy upon us.>

<Well, when you put it that way,> I said. It occurred to me in hindsight that Ax probably didn't really get what cultural baggage humans attached to hotel rooms in general. <Sounds good. Lead the way.>

When I flew home for the night, I told myself that I wasn't disappointed by how platonic our hangout had been, and for the most part, that was true. Honestly, just on a karma level, the night before we testified against Visser One probably wasn't the best night to hook up with Ax, even if it was kind of a casual thing, especially if it wasn't. And trial or no trial, I kind of wasn't thrilled about rushing into anything, in general. Still though, there was one mutinous corner of my mind that wished I'd had the nerve to move my hand from the pillow to Ax's cheek while we cuddled during a particularly uninspired confessional sequence and seen where it would go from there.

 _Oh well,_ I told myself. Let bygones be bygones. Anyway, plenty of time to see if Ax was interested later, after the tribunal, or at least after the preliminary hearings. My timing was all over the place right now. Shouldn't I be seeing other people anyway? Trying to cheer myself up with this prospect, I swooped down in front of the house and moved to the shadows to demorph, because old habits die hard, and then let myself inside.

My mom and dad were waiting up for me. I sighed inwardly. Somehow in the seventeen years I'd been alive I had never had to deal with the experience of coming home from a date while my parents were waiting up. 1/10, would not recommend. They didn't give me too much grief, though, probably since they'd embarrassed me about as thoroughly as possible earlier this evening. I went upstairs, pulled off my outer clothing and peeled off my morphing suit, threw on some pajamas and went to bed, painfully aware that I was going to be getting up in five hours to get ready for the legal proceedings tomorrow. I buried myself under the covers and was about to drift off when-

"This is Major Tom to Ground Control, I'm stepping through the door-"

I picked up the phone on my bedside. _Goodnight, Marco. May the moon shine gently on your sleep._

"What a line," I said. I set my phone back down and smiled into the dark.


End file.
